


Mark You Mine

by kitana



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Body Modification, Branding, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-08-15
Updated: 2009-08-15
Packaged: 2017-12-29 19:18:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1009072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitana/pseuds/kitana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When he really wants to, Sam can be obsessively organized and well-prepared.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mark You Mine

**Author's Note:**

> I did not go for traditional fire strike branding in this. Instead I went for a lesser known type of branding called ‘freeze branding.’ [This link](http://www.lhbrandingirons.com/Freeze/Instructions.html) is one of a few I used for some of the information. There’s more out there. XD Many thanks to my beta Luci, who is quite up to date on body mods, for giving me the idea to go this route.

It takes Sam a month and a half and some serious lying to dredge up all of the materials he needs. Dean doesn’t question much the extra duffel Sam has it all stuffed into – when Dean moves it around in the trunk of the Impala, it just sounds like a few extra rods of iron. And really, Sam thinks, that’s all it is. Technically. Save for the liquid nitrogen. Good thing Dean hasn’t thought to look and find it yet; it’d be really hard to explain without ruining the surprise.

“Off to find some food, Sam,” Dean calls out as Sam lugs the duffel inside of a newly acquired hotel room outside of Altoona, IA.

“Just don’t bring back any corn,” Sam says. “I’m sick of corn.” He gets a rev of the Impala in response.

“This is Iowa; don’t expect anything without some corn somewhere.”

“Yeah, sure,” Sam mutters. He closes the door to the hotel room as Dean speeds off. Iowa is nothing but small town and farm land and Sam’s hoping it’ll take Dean a little longer than normal to rustle up something half-way decent to eat.

Sam tosses the duffel down on the bed and starts laying out the contents. Isopropyl alcohol, check; electric razor, check; gloves, check. Sam then pulls out a slender rod, copper with the end shaped into a small circle with an ‘S’ inside, and lays it out on the bed. It’s the second most expensive thing in the duffel, and one would think he’d asked for it to be diamond encrusted or something with how long it took for it to be made. Sam pauses briefly to clear off the nightstand between the two double beds, and then pulls out the final ingredient to his recipe – liquid nitrogen.

Sam grins a little thinking about how much crap he had to go through to get it. Trying to come up with a valid reason to inspect an artificial insemination organization had taken an extra dosing of fast talking and charming smiles.

He’s going to have to wait until Dean gets back to do anything else, but Sam’s perfectly content to do just that. He grabs up the TV remote and flops on the second bed. Flicking on the TV, Sam surfs a few basic channels before settling himself with some good old Tom and Jerry. It’s either that or daytime soaps, and that’s a definite no-go.

*

It’s nearly forty-five minutes later when Dean comes shuffling through the hotel room door with two bags of food in hand. He kicks the door shut and drops the food on the rickety table that stands near the door.

“Man, you wouldn’t believe the shit I had to go through to get just a plain burger,” Dean says, pawing through the first bag with _Perkins_ emblazoned on it. “Who the hell puts bleu cheese on a burger?”

Sam looks up with an amused snort and flicks the TV off. “I don’t know, Iowans?”

“Well,” Dean replies, tossing the second bag at Sam with barely a glance, “They need to stop it.”

Burger in one hand and fries in the other, Dean makes to sit down on his bed and stops short. He peers at the items on his bed. “What’s all this? Thought there weren’t any more hunts around here right now?”

“There aren’t,” Sam responds, effectively earning an ‘okay, what the hell?’ look from Dean.

Dean sets his food back on the table. “So…? Then what?”

“Remember when we had that, um, talk? The one where you said I could, well, you know,” Sam says, gesturing at the copper rod on the bed. “Leave a mark.”

Dean just stares at Sam, for what it’s worth. “That was like two months ago.”

“You were serious, though, right?”

Dean’s face screws up into a considering look as he trails a finger over the branding iron, circling the twisted logo at the end. “Maybe.”

“Dean,” Sam says, sliding off of the bed, leaving his own food untouched. The gap between him and Dean is gobbled up in three long strides and Sam circles around Dean until Dean’s back is to him. Sam doesn’t have to look at his brother to know he’s got a pensive look on his face. “You want to be mine, right?”

Sam grips both of Dean’s arms and gets a shiver in response. “Yeah, Sam,” Dean says, and his voice is a little hoarse, like his mouth’s gone dry from just the thought of what belonging to Sam means. “I do.”

Sam grins and plops a kiss on the side of Dean’s neck. “Then let’s get started.”

Dean cranes his head around to look up at Sam. “Burger first.”

*

When he really wants to, Sam can be obsessively organized and well-prepared. Sam has everything he needs laid out in a neat line on the bathroom floor, except for the branding iron itself, which Dean can’t stop twirling between his fingers.

“So how’s this gonna work, Sam?” he says, arms draped over the back of a chair. It’s slightly chill being topless with the air conditioner going, but Dean’s got a hum of excitement strumming through his veins. He’s more ready for this than he’ll ever let Sam know about, ‘cause just the thought of the iron touching his skin sends blood flowing straight to his cock.

“Well,” Sam answers, looking up from the floor. The smile he gives Dean is salacious. “I’m going to fill up this ice bucket with the liquid nitrogen, and then I’m going to soak the iron you’re holding in it until its cold enough to make a nice, clear mark.”

Dean hands over the branding iron when Sam reaches for it. “Usually this is done with fire, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Sam agrees, sticking the iron straight down into the liquid nitrogen solution. “This hurts less, though.”

Dean knows Sam knows about branding pain first hand, so he’ll take Sam’s word on it. Not that Dean’s a stranger to physical pain by any means, but it’s not in his nature to go inflicting it on himself lightly. More than anything, he trusts his brother to not hurt him more than necessary.

Once Sam has the copper rod standing successfully, he stands and grabs the electric razor that is teetering on the edge of the sink. “Alright, Dean,” Sam says, getting behind Dean to press a big, warm hand to the middle of his back. “Where do you want it?”

Sam’s hand vibrates when Dean makes a contemplative noise. “Left shoulder’s good.”

It doesn’t take much, only a few strokes of the razor to get the area Dean wants to be completely hair free. Sam follows up with a swipe of alcohol across the area, and Dean shivers from the chill.

Sam steps away from Dean completely, still out of Dean’s immediate sight, but Dean can hear the slap of latex as Sam pulls plastic gloves on. Dean has a weird kind of adrenaline rush pumping through his veins; it makes both his dick throb and his fingertips tingle, and Dean isn’t sure what to do with the feeling since all he’s supposed to do right now is stay stock still.

“Don’t move,” Sam says, all playfulness aside, and Dean braces himself for the impact of iron on flesh.

Sam presses the branding rod to Dean’s shoulder and the cold of it is sharp, intense, and burns all the way through to his bones. Dean bows his head and hisses through the five, maybe ten, seconds it takes until Sam pulls the iron away again. His entire left side feels frozen; Dean takes a couple of deep breaths until his shoulder is only pulsing with a dull sort of pain.

Dean doesn’t move until Sam is back in his sight, threading warm, gloveless fingers into his hair and dragging him up, up, out of his chair and into a kiss that instantly drives every bit of the chill away. The kiss is all lips, tongue, and teeth scraping over the soft fullness of his lips. Dean groans and melts into it, letting Sam control it until he’s too out of breath to continue and has to break for air.

“You were so good, Dean,” Sam says, his lips only inches away from Dean’s.

Dean gives Sam one of his best flirty smiles. “You gonna give me a reward for being so good, Sammy?”

“Yeah,” Sam says and pulls away, his lips turning up to match Dean’s smile. “Come and get it.”

Dean maneuvers his way around the chair to follow Sam out of the bathroom and back into the bedroom. Sam flops on the bed, lying across it invitingly with mile-long legs spread wide. Sam’s cock is already tenting up his denim jeans the best it can when Dean joins him, sliding between his legs.

Sam pulls Dean down into another kiss, smothering himself with Dean from shoulder to hip. Dean bites down on Sam’s lower lip until it’s swollen pink and grinds his hips down against Sam’s, the friction sending delicious jolts of pleasure through him.

Sam groans and pushes himself up, breaking away from Dean momentarily. “Naked, now.”

Dean doesn’t need to be told twice. He scoots off of Sam, his dick throbbing all the way, and slides his jeans down and kicks them off in one smooth motion. His shoulder aches where Sam’s brand is when he hooks his fingers into his boxers to get rid of those, too. Stark naked, Dean waits for the half-second it takes for Sam to be out of his clothes too, then Sam’s pulling Dean back onto his lap, pressing a wide palm against the burn on Dean’s back.

The brand is raised under Sam’s hand, will probably only stay that way for another fifteen minutes, but it’s long enough for him to worship it with his fingertips. Dean’s body can’t decide whether to flinch or shudder as Sam’s calloused fingers trace over the puffed-up flesh. The mix of pleasure-pain makes Dean lean over and grip the base of his cock; it’s leaking clear precome against Sam's dick, paving the way slick when he rubs his cock over Sam’s from base to tip.

“Fuck, Dean,” Sam groans, his other hand reaching up to grip Dean’s bicep.

Dean presses one hand to Sam’s chest, wraps the one already holding his cock around his and Sam’s dick, stroking slowly. It’s so slick, his and Sam’s precome smearing together; his fingers don’t make the stretch around both of their cocks, but the press and slide of their dicks together makes up for the loose tunnel of Dean’s hand.

"Sam," Dean says, and Sam stills for just a second, before rocking up and taking the breath out of Dean's next words. "’S too good, not going to last like this."

"You want me inside?" Sam replies, and Dean swallows a little, shudders again.

"Yeah," Dean says, and then he's sliding once again off of Sam's lap to get to his duffel. He pulls out a medium-sized tube of lube, mostly used it but still good enough for this, and presses it into Sam's palm when he gets back to the bed. Dean watches Sam squeeze the clear liquid out and slick up his dick with both hands, going hand-over-hand. Sam feels Dean’s eyes on him, and Sam swears his cock swells up just a little bit more from the attention.

Dean climbs on the bed beside Sam and spreads his legs; he’s feeling impatient, like he can't wait for Sam's huge cock to be filling him up and stretching him out. With his dick slicked up shiny, Sam crawls between Dean's legs and Dean hitches them up until Sam can see his asshole, the puckered pink flesh practically begging for Sam to push inside.

The burn on Dean’s back is irritated at the touch of the rough coverlet on the hotel bed, but Dean knows it'll just make it better, more visible in the long run. Sam presses a cool lubed finger to Dean's entrance and Dean lets all his breath go as he relaxes, lets himself open up for Sam.

"Just like that, real good," Sam says, and Dean grins. Sam lavishes on the praise like they're kisses, and even if Dean won't ever say it out loud, he loves every minute of it. Sam gets a second finger in there, wiggles them around, scissoring them in and out of Dean until Dean's got his hand on his cock again, pressing on it so he won't come just yet. Desire is singing through Dean’s veins, making his cock pulse against his palm. He’s rock hard, wanting to come so bad he can taste it, but he just holds on, eyes trained on Sam’s hand where he fingers are disappearing inside of him.

Sam gets a third finger in and Dean pushes back against it, groaning, and Sam matches him. Dean looks so fucking good spread out on his back, Sam can't help it. Part on him wants to flip Dean over and stare at the new scar on his back, maybe jerk off all over it until its stained white with his come. God damn. Sam shuts down that train of thought, focuses back to Dean’s asshole trying to swallow down his fingers every time he draws his hand away.

"Yeah, yeah, Sam, do it," Dean moans, his voice rough with sex. Sam moves his fingers away and positions himself in front of Dean. He gets his cock lined up to Dean's hole and pushes, just pushes until the ring of muscle is giving way for the fat head of his dick. Dean arches and groans, holding his cock in a loose grip.

Dean's eyes are wide when his gaze slides back to Sam’s face; Dean’s looking so fucked out already and Sam's not even all the way in yet. When Sam does slide home, they both moan, Dean feeling so full and Sam sheathed in Dean, surrounded by sheer warmth.

Sam thrusts in shallowly, letting Dean get reacquainted with the full feeling of his cock stretching him out. Dean licks his lips, enticing Sam in a way he probably only has a vague idea about.

“Gonna go for the gold, Sammy?" Dean says, and Sam answers with a thrust, making Dean's back arch off of the bed.

Sam sets up a pounding rhythm, big hands gripping Dean’s hips for leverage. Dean grunts and reaches up with his other hand, tangling his fingers into Sam’s too-long hair and tugging, pulling Sam into a crushing kiss. Sam's rhythm stutters just for a second, and he wills himself to not shoot his load then and there from Dean's wet kisses. He lets go Dean’s hips, instead puts both hands beside Dean’s head, and fuck, that makes him go deeper than he just was.

"Mm, God, Dean, you're always so tight for me," Sam says and Dean surges up against Sam, sucking Sam’s lips between his own, holding Sam’s mouth captive as he fucks his tongue against Sam’s tongue. Sam's breaths are coming straight from Dean now, like Dean's feeding him all the air his lungs are going to get.

The skin on Dean’s shoulder is aching with the rough treatment it's getting but Dean is past caring at this point, can't feel the ache over the throb of pleasure radiating from his dick and spreading out over the rest of his body. Sam hits a good spot and Dean’s head lolls back. "Oh fuck, yeah Sam, always, you fill me up so good," Dean gets out between moans.

Sam answers in a groan, fucking up into Dean harder. Dean's cock is trapped between their bellies, precome smearing across both of their stomachs and Dean’s hand that's trapped there.

Sam thrusts a few more times, getting Dean’s sweet spot again, and that's it for Dean; he's spilling all over his hand and their bellies, come spurting thick and white between them. Sam fucks Dean through his orgasm, watching Dean’s eyelids flutter and mouth go slack until he's coming too and shooting deep inside of Dean.

After, Sam goes boneless on top of Dean, practically crushing him with his weight, but Dean doesn't do anything except grunt and take a couple of deep breaths.

"Damn, Sammy," Dean says, and Sam just turns his face into Dean's sweaty neck. "Get off real hard on the owning thing, don't you?"

Sam snorts, and Dean can feel the smile on Sam's lips. "Don't try to make it all about me, you ass. You got off just as hard."

Dean wriggles his hand out from where it's trapped between him and Sam and splays come and lube-stained fingers over Sam's back. "Yeah, guess I did."

The two of them stay like that, catching their breath, until the sweat and come between them is cool and tacky. It's Dean who shifts first, then Sam stirs a bit, rolls off of Dean.

"Shower?" Sam says, and Dean stretches and follows up with a wince when his shoulder throbs.

"Second best idea you've had all day, I'm thinkin'," Dean replies, then rolls off of the bed and makes a beeline for the bathroom. "I'm calling firsts."

Sam just shakes his head and goes after Dean. No way in hell he’s going to wait in line when he’s this much of a mess.

Especially when it’s all Dean’s fault to begin with.


End file.
